


Our glory days are numbered

by Excuseyouclarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mob Boss Bellamy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:20:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28904031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Excuseyouclarke/pseuds/Excuseyouclarke
Summary: Bellamy won't pretend that he's a good person. He knows that his life revolves around crime and violence, it's just the way it's always been, and it's how it's always going to be. When he's blamed for a new drug craze going around Arcadia - one that's killing off people in the dozens, Bellamy knows he has to do something about it. Not only to prove his innocence, but to save the whole of Arcadia.Clarke just wants to be left alone. After a tragic end to her military career, she's happy to live her life alone in her apartment, suffocating in her thoughts. When her mother becomes reliant on Opioids, she knows she has to do something about it, even if it means joining forces with Bellamy Blake - Arcadia's most notorious drug dealer.Now, they're thrown into a mistrustful relationship with a common goal - kill Cage Wallace.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 11
Kudos: 45
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	1. This city ain't what it used to be

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FanShipper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanShipper/gifts).



**_Chapter 1 — This city ain’t what it used to be_ **

**Excerpt from the** **_Arcadia Times_ ** **, January 21st 2021**

_ The city of Arcadia has once again been hit by a devastating new drug craze. Police suggest that the new drug on the market 'Reaper' may not be taken voluntarily, but rather as a disguised drug. Officials are now suggesting that the drug may be camouflaged as Cocaine or Opioids, involuntarily turning users into 'crazed killing machines' before their violent death. Though no official investigation has been conclusive so far, it has been suggested that Bellamy Blake, a suggested part of the cities notorious drug ring could be behind the new dangerous drug, but officials have no evidence as of yet ...more on Page 4 _

  
  


Bellamy stares over his morning paper in disdain, the grey, miserable sky outside does nothing to better his mood. At this point, he highly doubts anything will brighten his mood, let alone the weather. 

People are dying, fast and violent and what’s worse is they’re taking others down with them. No matter what people think of him, he’s not so cold and unfeeling that he wants the people of Arcadia dropping dead like this. It’s practically post—apocalyptic now, you never know who’s waiting around the corner, you never know who’s on the brink of death.

People dying is not in Bellamy’s favour. He’s not in the dying business, he needs his people alive and kicking, and willing to buy what he’s selling. 

There’s a knock at the door, a demand for his attention but quite frankly, he’s not in the goddamn mood. The knocking doesn’t go away just because he’s not in the mood though, and by the persistence, he knows exactly who it is. 

“Go the hell away, Murphy” Bellamy calls, for some reason, Murphy took it as an invitation to saunter into his room, sitting opposite his desk and picking up his newspaper. He lets out a low whistle and clicks his tongue as he looks over the article that had caught Bellamy’s attention, too. 

“They think we’re behind this?” He snorts, Bellamy rolls his eyes. 

“Of course they do. The Wallaces run this godforsaken city, I wouldn't be surprised if they owned the media too.”

Murphy folds the newspaper up neatly and places it back on the desk, then reaches over to take a cigarette out of the packet and lights it up with Bellamy’s lighter. 

“Did you come here for anything in particular,” Bellamy grumbles, “or just to steal my cigarettes and read my paper.”

There’s a sly smile hanging off Murphy’s lips, Bellamy can’t work out what his aim is this morning, but then, he never could work Murphy out. Even as a child, before he enlisted in the military and left for months at a time. Sometimes longer, sometimes shorter.

Sometimes he came back with stories to tell, extravagant and revelling in his role as a storyteller. Sometimes, he came back as a different person completely. That was what happened the last time, he didn’t go back after that, retired from his life in the army and never spoke of it again. 

As much as Bellamy would like to know what happened, he’s no stranger to memories he can’t bear to relive, so he never asked. He gave him a place with him and let him just be, good mood or bad. 

At least now he seems to be in a good mood. 

“What are we doing about Mount Weather?” Murphy asks with a raised eyebrow, there’s a challenging glint in his eye, and wonders what his aim is here, if he has a plan or if he’s just come in here to antagonise. 

“We’re keeping an eye on the situation, I don’t know what else we can do right now. If I thought there was a way to infiltrate them, I’d have done it by now.”

Murphy grins and nods, flicking cigarette ash on the floor. “I thought you might say that.”

He doesn’t elaborate, Bellamy has to wonder if he came in here just to point out his failures. It wouldn't be out of character for Murphy to that. “I’m glad I’ve become predictable. Can I actually do anything for you?”

“Maybe you can. I think I might know how to solve your little problem.”

Bellamy sighs, he has no idea if Murphy can actually solve Arcadia’s drug problem, but if he can, he’ll give up his place and let Murphy take over the business. 

“Pray tell, Murphy — how do you think you’re going to do that?”

“I know a person, she’s not from around here, new in town. I think she might be useful.”

Bellamy squeezes his eyes shut and rubs his temples, he’s got a headache coming on, he can feel it. “Does Emori know about her?”

Murphy frowns in confusion, then it morphs into annoyance. “Not  _ that _ kind of girl, Jesus Bellamy. I know her from way back, she’s — let’s say interesting. However, I think she’s got some connections that might come in handy for us.”

Bellamy mulls it over, he’s not one to trust easily, especially not in these times. He’s been burned and betrayed enough times to know that trust doesn't come easily to him, nor does he want it to. “How do you know her?”

If he’s going to trust some new girl, he needs to know who they’re dealing with. This isn’t Robert Half, they’re not a recruitment agency. If this girl needs a job she’s going to have to look outside of Arcadia.

Murphy shrugs nonchalantly, “Just around, you know?”

“No, Murphy. I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you, does she have a name?”

“Clarke,” Murphy stares at him challengingly, if he was coming in here just to be awkward then he shouldn’t have bothered. He’s only going to get kicked out. “Just Clarke.”

“Okay,” Bellamy sighs, “what connections does just Clarke have to Mount Weather?”

Murphy clicks his tongue, Bellamy has a feeling that he’s not going to get anywhere near enough information out of him to even consider meeting this girl. “That’s for her to tell you.”

“So let me get this straight,” Bellamy starts, staring Murphy down with a hard glare. “You expect me to let a girl you know from way back, who doesn’t even have a last name, into my home, around my family in these times, when you can’t even tell me where you know her from or how she’s going to help?”

“Have I ever let you down before?” Murphy scoffs, Bellamy can’t count on two hands the amount of time Murphy has let him down. Most of the time it's little things, insignificant things that he can look over, but he doesn’t want this to be the one thing that is significant, he doesn’t want to put his faith in someone who’s going to get someone killed. 

“Many times, and you’re not going to do it again. These are desperate times, Murphy — I’m not putting my faith into someone I don’t know.”

Murphy nods, he has to understand that these really are desperate times, someones always lurking around the corner, waiting to take them down. The media already has them painted as the bad guys, saying that they’re the reason for the Reaper problem. 

Bellamy isn’t in the dying game though, it’s not in his best interests for people to drop dead and take innocent people with them. He needs the people of Arcadia alive, he has businesses to run, afterall. 

“I understand, but I think you’re making a mistake. Clarke’s the key to getting into Mount Weather, trust me.”

“Unless you can tell me a hell of a lot more information about her, she’s not getting anywhere near us,” Bellamy tells him evenly, whether Murphy wants to accept that or not is entirely up to him.

*

The problem with the Reaper craze, is that it’s tanking the economy with it. It turns people into violent killers for a brief amount of time, but it’s long enough to go on a random killing rampage — then they drop dead with their victims. The people of Arcadia are too scared to leave their homes, too scared to go outside because they don’t know who’s about to turn into a violent killer.

As a result, Bellamy’s front businesses are going down too. What he does isn’t easy, money has to be coming in at any given time, and without people spending, the entire of Arcadia looks like it’s going down. It’s a damn shame, but no one wants to do anything. Everybody knows Mount Weather has something to do with it, they’re just too afraid of Cage Wallace to do anything about it. 

Ever since Dante Wallace went into retirement, Cage has practically been running Arcadia. They say that his pharmaceutical business keeps the city going, but Bellamy highly doubts that. His Pharmaceuticals are the part of the reason the economy’s going down, even before the Reaper craze, Mount Weather was the leading company selling Opioids, the very Opioids that left people high and unable to function without them. People lost their jobs because of the dependencies, got into debt just for their next fix. They have a city full of high functioning addicts that Cage doesn’t care about. If he did, he’d have cut a lot of them off a long time ago. 

Bellamy thinks the Opioid addiction is probably worse than the pain it’s supposed to be masking, but he doesn’t want to test that theory, neither does he want anyone close to him to. He sees it in Ravens eyes occasionally, the pain she’s in after the accident that left her knee messed up. 

While he doesn’t want the people he loves to be in pain, he doesn’t want to see them high as a kite addicted to painkillers, either. It doesn’t help anyone that way, and he will take down Cage Wallace before it gets to that point. 

Take down Cage Wallace, stop the Reaper craze. That’s his aim.

He looks over the books for the restaurants and casinos. They might just be fronts for the  _ side business _ he’s got going on, but he still doesn’t want to see them go down. Businesses going down mean redundancies, families lose money, children go hungry. He doesn’t want to be the one who does that. 

But if things don’t start looking up in Arcadia anytime soon, he’s going to have to branch out of the city, and he doesn’t want to do that. He wants his own city to thrive, if he was doing this purely for the money, he wouldn’t care. But he’s not doing this just for money, he won’t deny that a big part of it is around money, but the other part is keeping the economy going for the sake of the City. 

The news on the television in the background tells him that there’s three people dead, two murdered, one suspected to be a Reaper. Bellamy clenches his fists around the pen in his hand, Mount Weather will pay for this. 

He suspects that this is some kind of sick experiment, or at least an experimental drug gone wrong. At worst, he suspects that they’re doing this on purpose, Cage and his prized Dr Tsing. He just wishes he had enough proof. 

Raven and Monty have been trying desperately hard to hack into Mount Weathers systems, but they've got everything in a tight hold. 

He can see the frustration in Raven’s eyes, she’s not used to losing, there’s not a thing she can’t fix or hack into. She’s taking Mount Weathers security system as a challenge, he has faith that they’ll find their way in, he only hires the best people for the job. Even if he does joke to Raven and Monty that he’s going to replace them for whoever designed the Mount Weather Security.

Raven did not take that well. 

*

He may only hire the best people for the job, but those people are his family. It’s not an exchange, his friendship for a job, he does pay them. It just so happens that they all get along. 

Everyone but Octavia’s boyfriend, Atom—he can go straight to hell. 

He tells him so at the bar that night, but nothing seems to faze the kid. He supposed you’d have to have thick skin to stay with Octavia, so he doesn’t let his nonchalance to Bellamy’s threats get to him too much. 

Echo sits at the bar watching them closely, Azgeda comes here sometimes, it’s the only one of his businesses that is actually doing well, so he can’t be overly picky about who goes where. Besides, Azgeda pretty much keep to themselves, as far as he knows, Roan’s company’s have nothing on his, and they’re not a competition so he doesn’t care if they hang around. 

The Dropship is the only place he really feels like he can relax, he’s not going to ruin that by guarding the door. Unless Cage Wallace happened to walk through the door, he’d have more than something to say about that. 

He has to practically shove Octavia in the taxi at kicking out time, whether he owns the bar or not, he’s not keeping it open past closing time, that costs money and these days it’s getting harder and harder to come by. He gives Atom a warning glare as he gets in the taxi behind Octavia, no way is he having that twerp in his house around his sister. 

If Octavia pouts about it he doesn’t pay any attention. His house, his rules. 

He falls into a fitful sleep that night, Mount Weather and Reapers on his mind. If he doesn’t do something about it soon, he dreads to think what might happen. It’ll be more than the economy going down, Arcadia will soon become a ghost town, and there’s nothing he'll be able to do about it. He can’t blame people for moving away from here, and no one in their right mind would want to move here. 

An insistent pounding at the door pulls him out of his sleep, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he curses Murphy, convinced it could only be him trying to kick down the door at a stupid hour of the morning. 

“What the hell?” Octavia asks sleepily from the doorway of her bedroom, he was wondering the same thing. 

“No idea,” he grunts, “I swear to god if this is Murphy.”

“What if it’s the police?” Worry laces Octavia’s tone now, he knows she worries about a lot of things, even if she doesn’t say it. She doesn’t have to say it though, he understands — because he worries about her too.

“It’s fine, there’s nothing here,” he assures her, he’d be stupid to leave anything incriminating lying around. If it was the police, he thinks they probably would have just kicked the door down by now, but whoever it is isn’t far from doing that anyway. He opens the door before a boot splinters through it, the last thing he needs is to replace a door on top of everything else. 

Atoms standing at the door, eyes wide and pupils blown, practically growling at him. 

“What the fuck?” Bellamy snaps. “It’s 4 in the morning, what are you doing here?”

Atom doesn’t answer, he just glowers at him from the dim porch. Bellamy’s just about to shove him away, if he’s going to come to his house in the middle of the night, he can face the consequences of it. But he doesn’t get the chance, Atoms leaps forward with more strength than Bellamy thought him capable of, hands come up to his neck and push him back towards the door. Bellamy kicks out, knee colliding sharply with Atom's groin, but he doesn’t even notice. Just like he doesn’t notice the blows to his head. 

He’s on something, he has to be.  _ Reaper, _ he realises, it’s the only thing that could be making him act like this. Atom finally pushes off him, and for a moment Bellamy’s grateful that he’s got time to get his mind straight, but then he sees Atom's new target — Octavia. 

Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to pull the gun out of the waistband of his sweatpants he threw on, him being attacked was one thing, but no way was he letting a Reaper anywhere near his sister.

Atoms dead after 1 bullet through his head, Bellamy puts another one through, just to be sure. He kicks Atom's body over, his wide dead eyes glazed over now.

“What the hell was that?” Octavia asks shakily as Bellamy pulls her up. There’s blood on her face, she’s got to be traumatised by that. He hates that he’s had to put her through that, as if she hasn’t seen enough shit over the years. “What—why was he like that? He tried to  _ kill _ me.”

“Reaper,” Bellamy grunts, he never thought of Atom to take anything that could be disguised as that, but something’s telling him that this wasn’t a chance encounter with a Reaper. 

“He wasn’t — he’s never taken anything like that.”

“Octavia,” he turns towards her, and suddenly she’s a child again, huddled by his legs as he tries to protect her from the world. “Go get a shower, wash the blood off your face, I’ll sort this out.”

Octavia bites her lip, looking back over to Atom. “What are you going to do with him? He’s got a family, people will ask questions if he goes missing.”

“He’s not going missing,” he assures her quickly, this doesn’t have to be dumping a body in the river kind of situation. “We did nothing wrong, okay? He was going to kill you, there’s bruises on both of us from where he attacked us, we’ll tell the police what happened, it was self defence.”

As much as he doesn’t want the police involved, he’ll do it right and prove his innocence against the media mob that’s coming for him. They might see it as a ruse, but he doesn’t give a shit, they can think what they like, he knows his innocence.

He should have known they wouldn’t just send a beat cop out to them—they sent the Chief of Police, Marcus Kane himself to inspect the happenings. They took Octavia straight into the kitchen, not letting them be interviewed together. That’s their prerogative, they’re not going to find any inconsistencies with their stories. 

They don’t either. Bellamy can’t help but sit smugly as Octavia glares as the officers around the room. In the hallway. There’s photographers and EMT’s, no doubt there’s officers snooping around, too. They won’t find anything, Bellamy’s not stupid enough to call the cops to his house then leave incriminating evidence lying around. 

“Here’s the deal,” Kane drags a hand over his face, the hard set of his mouth wants to scream  _ guilty, _ but the reluctance in his eyes knows Bellamy’s innocent. “All the signs point to a Reaper, I’m not denying it, but this just seems very…”

“Targeted?” Bellamy suggests, he thought the same thing. Which can only mean… “Here’s my theory — someone who doesn’t like me very much dumped him outside my house either just before or just after giving him the drugs. He kicks down my door, attacks me, attacks my sister and he gets a bullet through the head.”

“And why, Mr Blake, would anyone want to set a Reaper on you?”

“Beats me,” Bellamy shrugs, nonchalant. “I’ve never done anything to anyone.”

Kane sighs, he obviously doesn’t believe that. Bellamy, however, is not going to admit to any ongoing feuds. “I’m sure. Here’s what’s going to happen, the coroners taking him in, testing him, and if there’s no trace of any drugs in his system, you and I are having a conversation in an interview room.”

“If you find no trace of drugs in his system, my actions still stand—he was attacking my sister, it was self-defence. There’s nothing else you can possibly get from this case that could incriminate me in any way.”

There’s no evidence against him here that would stand up in court. There’s enough evidence of him and his sister being attacked that it doesn’t matter what he did to him, and if he’d have known he was going to kill him, he’d have made it a lot worse for him. 

Kane leaves with a warning that he’ll speak to them soon, it’s an ominous parting, but Bellamy’s not worried about Kane. When he’s confident he’s alone he calls his team, there’s work to do.

He makes everyone do a thorough sweep, Murphy calls him paranoid, but there were too many people loitering around his house who would happily see him behind bars. He’s assured for what is possibly the 20th time when he decides to cave into Murphy’s knowing smirk.

“Fine,” he huffs, “Call your girl up. Set up a meeting — but if I don’t like her or think something’s not right about her, she’s going to have to forget she ever met me—whether that’s voluntarily or by force is up to her.”

*

Clarke is not what he expected, he doesn’t really know what he expected, but it’s not whoever’s sitting on his sofa. She’s young and tired looking, unsure as she looks around his living room. He wonders if she ever expected to be sitting here, she doesn’t look like she has some inside connections to a possible illegal drug ring, but then, he hopes he doesn’t look like he runs one either. 

She shifts uncomfortably under his scrutinizing gaze, he wonders what the hell Murphy was thinking, bringing her here. She looks like a strong gust of wind would blow her over. She seems to have this nervous habit of pinching her elbow, there’s a bruise there, new looking with tinges of yellow around it. She’s obviously got issues, ones that he doesn’t even want to delve into. 

“So,” he starts, watching her cautiously. “How do you know Murphy?”

Clarke lifts a shoulder, “from around.”

Bellamy has to grit his teeth, this isn’t going to work if she’s going to be as difficult as Murphy was. He wonders what kind of shit she’s into if she won’t even tell him how she knows Murphy. If this was going to work, a mutual trust was needed, and she certainly doesn’t look like she’s trustworthy. 

“Okay,” he sighs, “let's start basic, what’s your name?”

Clarke cocks her head and scrunches her brows together. “Clarke, you greeted me at the door.”

Next to him, Octavia snorts and Bellamy knows she’s just lapping this up. “Do you have a last name?”

Finally, something other than uncertainty crosses her face, though he’s not sure he likes the smirk that’s now plastered on her lips. “Funnily enough no, my parents had a hard enough time choosing Clarke, so they decided it was best to just omit any other names, just to save any more headaches.”

Well—she’s cracked Octavia at least. Murphy looks like quips like this are not a new thing, so perhaps she does have a personality afterall. 

“Hilarious,” he deadpans, “I can see why you and Murphy would get along.”

“Who said we get along?”

He pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration, he’s already tired of this girl and they’re not even working together yet. Murphy never mentioned she was insufferable. 

“What do you do for a living? How do you make a living, you know, make money to buy unassembled clothing?”

Clarke looks down to her jeans with a frown, “The woman in the shop told me ripped Jeans were in fashion. But I don’t work, medically signed off—plus my trust fund is plenty to live off for the time being.”

_ Absolutely insufferable. _

“Here’s the thing,  _ Clarke. _ I don’t know a single thing about you other than your apparent only name—which I’m not convinced is real—and that you somehow know Murphy in what appears to be some very shady circumstances, since neither of you are willing to talk about it. So I’ll ask you one thing, why should I trust you?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, it’s his make or break question — he doesn’t trust easily, nor should he. He’s only considering her because Murphy vouched that she's the key to taking down Mount Weather. “You shouldn’t. As the leader of one of Arcadia’s largest drug rings I don’t expect you to trust anyone.”

“You don’t know I have a drug ring,” he snaps, but she doesn’t flinch from his glare. 

“Please,” she scoffs obnoxiously, “it’s Arcadia’s worst kept secret. Everyone knows you have drugs come into your casinos with your dodgy alcohol for your bars and stuffed inside your discount poultry for your dodgy little restaurants. If you think you’re slick I have some very bad news for you—the only reason you haven’t been arrested is because the cops in this city are underfunded idiots. I don’t care if you trust me, I don’t care if you sneak into my apartment in the middle of the night and put a bullet through my head, quite frankly you’ve got an awful reputation and I don’t trust you one bit. But we’ve both got a common goal here, I’m not looking to make friendship bracelets with you, I want to take down Mount Weather. I want Cage Wallace stone cold dead and six feet under.”

Her speech seems to have ignited a fire in her, Blue eyes glare back at him with so much intensity that he finally thinks she may be human after all.

“How exactly do you, of all people think you can help me take down Mount Weather?”

Clarke’s smile is disconcertingly blinding. “Because he’s expecting me next week.”


	2. This is gonna be one of those things

**Excerpt from the** **_Arcadia Times,_ ** **June 15th 2020**

_A fall from grace_ — _Disgraced surgeon-come-politician Abby Griffin has today been found guilty of gross malpractice after a high amount of Opioids were found in her the Doctors system. A recently leaked report shows a high amount of the drug Oxycodone was found in her system after urine and blood samples were taken. The patient_ _who had gone into emergency surgery after their Appendix ruptured was left with life-altering injuries due to Dr. Griffin’s malpractice._

_ Dr. Griffin has now been stripped of her medical license, and had been put into 6 months rehabilitation. It is estimated approximately 2.1 million Americans have an opioid use disorder, that’s around 1 in 4 people. Prescription drug abuse is on the rise in Arcadia, a worrying trend that officials are failing to get under control.  _

  
  


**_Present day._ **

The rain hammers down on the deserted streets below her apartment. Shops that would usually be open and bustling by now are shuttered up and deserted. It’s a crying shame, and Cage Wallace has a lot to answer for. 

But he won’t. He has enough money to keep his name out of the media’s trash, journalists too scared to even mention his name. The last person who tried to link him and his company to the Reaper epidemic was found in the woods miles away from Arcadia, it was warning enough for everyone else. 

She runs her hands over the yellowing keys of her fathers Piano, there’s not much left of him, photos made into a scrapbook she keeps under her bed, Jewelry she keeps locked away from prying eyes and sticky fingers. Not that anyone comes to her apartment in the first place. But you never know who’s going to kick down your door in the middle of the night, especially in these trying times. 

Gymnopédie No.1 suits her mood just fine, she thinks. Slow, and a little sad and nostalgic. It’s one of the first things her father taught her, sitting patiently next to her teaching her scales and Crescendo and diminuendo, she’d spent hours mastering the basics before he'd even let her near a piece of music. When she’d finally mastered sheet reading, this is what he taught her. Always a lover of the classics, he hadn’t let her off easy. While most children were learning  _ Mary had a little Lamb, _ she was learning Brahm and Bach and Chopin, the list went on, and she never appreciated the beauty of the music back then.

Now, it’s the only thing she has left to hold on to. 

The keys are flat though, despairingly out of tune and it butchers the pieces. Her father would cry if he heard what his precious piano sounded like now. She can’t bring herself to get it tuned though, this is how he left it, this is how it should stay. 

She wishes she could spend the rest of her life here, let ivy and moss grow over her and her misery. But that won’t happen, because no one will let her rest. Mainly the person persistently pounding on her door. Her fingers fumble over the ivory keys and just like that, she’s lost her rhythm. 

“Go away,” she shouts at the door, despite knowing it won’t work. She knows who’s here, and she knows he’s only come to annoy her. She lets him stand outside a bit longer though, trying her hardest to ignore him for a minute and finish off her piece. It’s no use, she stands angrily and flings the door open, Murphy’s mid knock and bored looking. “What?”

“Finally,” he mutters, pushing past her. He looks around her apartment in semi-disgust. He knows what it’s like here, he shouldn’t be surprised at how she lives. “That thing sounds dreadful, or is it just your playing that’s bad?”

“Hilarious,” Clarke mutters, wrapping her arms around herself self-consciously. She wasn’t always like this, but it does no good to think about that. “It needs tuning.”

“You can say that again,” he mutters, going through her cupboards. He won’t find anything interesting, just dried pasta and jarred sauces. “Are you scared to go to the shops?”

“No, Murphy,” she huffs, this is why she doesn’t let people in her apartment. “I’m just not one for cooking.”

They can’t all be chefs like Murphy, nor would she want to be. She hasn’t got the patience for all the chopping and simmering, the stuff she buys is just fine.

“No kidding. Any plans for the day? Maybe a shower, go shopping, buy something of substance. Here’s a wild idea, why don’t you decorate your apartment, it’s the blandest place I’ve ever seen.”

Clarke has to roll her eyes, she doesn’t need to redecorate, what’s the point in that? Nobody comes here, she doesn’t want anyone to come around—she wants to be left the hell alone. 

“No plans,” she says, instead of the ruder responses running through her mind. “Just the same old.”

“Same old,” Murphy reiterates doubtfully, “I’ve got an idea, how about going to a bar—it’ll be fun.”

Clarke snorts, it won’t be fun, she has no interest in going to a bar with him, mainly because she knows exactly where this conversation is going. “I don’t want to go to a bar, I want to stay here.”

“That wasn’t a request, actually. We’re going to a bar. You’re having a shower, putting on something other than sweats and getting out of this place, even if it’s just for a couple of hours.”

Crossing her arms defiantly, she stares him down, she can be just as stubborn as him, if not more so. She can stay like this all day, it would suit her, actually—means she wouldn’t have to go to whatever dive bar he’s trying to drag her to.

Murphy finally sighs, in defeat or resignation she’s not quite sure, but he looks away first, so it’s a victory for Clarke. “Do you still live in that funny little head of yours? The one where nothing bad ever happened and you’re still some acclaimed teenage prodigy.”

She wants to tell him she doesn't know what the hell he’s on about, but there’s no use, because he knows her far too well to lie about how she’s feeling. “Sometimes,” she confesses quietly, in a vulnerability she’s not used to. 

Murphy nods, perhaps he doesn’t understand her pain, but he has his own—he’s seen plenty of his own horrors to understand why she shrinks away like she does.

“There’s no changing what happened,” he shrugs, but his eyes are uncharacteristically soft. “There’s no going back and changing it, you just have to live with it as best you can—and rotting inside your apartment isn’t going to help anything. So go get a shower, get dressed and we’re meeting Bellamy at The Dropship at 8.”

Clarke blinks in surprise, “We’re meeting who at the where?”

“Come on,” Murphy sighs, “he has to trust you and you have to trust him, that’s not going to happen if you don’t actually communicate. I’m not saying you sit down together and cry over your life stories, nobody wants  _ that,  _ but you have to at least try. And if you don’t i’m going to come over here and drag you there myself whether you’re wearing 3 day old sweats or not.”

Isn’t it bad enough that she’s agreed to spy for him, but now she’s got to socialise with him too, in her own time while she could be eating bland pasta and watching crap TV? 

She could do with a shower though, and she should go and see her mother today, too. So maybe a night at a bar wouldn’t be the worst thing that ever happened, and she could do with trying to suss him out, anyway. Maybe she should be young for a change, it’s what she was doing before she left the military, going out to bars and drinking with friends, always causing trouble.

“Fine,” she finally snaps, “but I’m not going so he trusts me, whether he does that or not is a problem for him, not me.”

“That’s the spirit,” Murphy claps her on the back, jolting her forward—he did that on purpose. “I’ll see you at 8, if you don’t show up I stand by my word of dragging you there.”

The door slams behind him, and finally Clarkes left in peace. Expect it’s not peace anymore, because she’s wound up at the thought of having to spend a night with Bellamy Blake and his band of misfit delinquents. But she showers anyway and gets dressed, she reluctantly admits to herself that she feels better for it already. 

She’s jittery as she drives to her mothers house, never really sure at what she’s going to find there. It gives her nightmares sometimes, dotted in with the others are visions of finding her mother overdosed on the damn Opioids that she relies so heavily on. 

It sends a wave of anger through her once again, her mother had already been through rehab once, she’d been fine, functioning without painkillers and then one minor set back and Clarke was helpless. 

Now, her mothers a shell of the person she used to be, housebound for her own good. Before, she was functional with the painkillers, as long as she had them she was fine, until she wasn’t anymore. Rehab was supposed to do her good, but Clarke thinks she was just faking it until she could get out and get her next fix. When the doctors wouldn’t prescribe the meds anymore, Clarke was left helpless and—in a moment of weakness—went directly to the source of the problem. 

She hates herself for it. 

The house is tidy when she gets there, it always is. Her mother doesn’t really do much to make a mess though, and she imagines Kane keeps the place pretty tidy—she's grateful for that. 

“Hey, mom” Clarke kisses her mothers cheek and sits opposite her on the sofa. There’s a daytime chat show on that she can tell her mothers not really watching, it’s just on for background noise. “How are you feeling?”

Her mother blinks, only barely aware that Clarke’s here. “What?” she frowns, looking around the room, Clarke wonders if she knows what’s going on, if she even knows what’s happening or who Clarke is.

“I said how are you feeling?”

“Fine,” her mother tells her unconvincingly, but she knows what to say to stop people from asking questions. It won’t stop Clarke though. 

“Good, what did you do today?”

Another blank stare, blue eyes cold and unrecognising. “Nothing.”

Clarke sighs, dragging a hand over her face. Of course she’s done nothing, she spends her life waiting for her next fix. She doesn’t work anymore, she’s lost all credibility in politics, she has no interest in finding a hobby, she’s spending the rest of her life rotting away. 

She fears what will come next, when the pills stop being enough and doesn’t fix the cravings anymore. What happens then? More Rehab—or will she turn to something else? Clarke doesn’t know how she’ll cope with that, there’s no way in hell she’s dealing with dodgy drug dealers to get her mother a Heroin fix. Dealing with Bellamy is bad enough, and that’s just to take down his competition. 

She wouldn’t be caught dead crawling to him. 

Right now though, she’s not getting anywhere with her mother, so she stands and goes to the kitchen—it’s better stocked than hers at least. She makes two sandwiches, as much as Clarke doesn’t want to eat it, her mother might if she see’s Clarke eating too.

Her mother just stares at the sandwich in disdain, but Clarke pays no attention and bits into her own. “It’s good,” she tells her, “I promise, I made it myself, not that it’s too much of a testament.”

Her mother doesn’t crack a smile at her joke, but she does pick the sandwich up and tentatively take a bite. 

“Cheese and ham, I used to be obsessed as a kid, remember?”

“You phoned the hospital once when you were with the babysitter and tried to get my secretary to make you one.” Her mother says, but she sounds unsure.

“Yep, the babysitter used to say I’d turn into a cheese and ham sandwich, she tries to get me to eat other things. It never worked though.”

Finally, there’s a spark of recognition in her mothers eyes, a bit of life that Clarke thought she’d lost. “You were a nightmare as a child, you wouldn’t eat anything. Your father and I always had a battle with you.”

“You should see me now there’s no one to tell me I can’t only eat pasta and cheese,” Clarke jokes, although it’s not exactly a lie. Outside, there’s a flash of blue lights and shouting. Her mother doesn’t seem to have noticed, so Clarke takes the opportunity to take a look out there. 

Police cars and ambulances line the street, and Clarkes stomach drops. It could be anything, but she knows it’s not. It’s a Reaper killing, she doesn’t need anyone to tell her, she knows that nothing other than that happens anymore. 

She thinks about the articles she’s been reading, that the drugs are disguised as something else. That something else could very well be the drugs her mother’s taking, and where else would they come from other than Arcadia’s very own revolutionary pharmaceutical company. They’re using their own city as a test dummy, it makes her sick.

Behind her, an alarm goes off on her mother’s phone. Clarke looks around in confusion, there’s nothing cooking, there’s no reason Clarke can think of for an alarm to be going off. 

Apart from her mother shaking a pill from an orange bottle. Clarke’s over there before the pill can reach her mothers mouth, snatching it away from her.

“Clarke!” She gasps, staring at Clarke in betrayal. 

“Why are you taking that?” Clarke demands, pinching the pill between her fingers. She could crush it, just a little bit more pressure and she could destroy the pill. She could do it with all of them, just get rid of everything.

But she’s done that before, forcing her into a detox. They don’t talk about that anymore, it was a dark time for both of them, and if Clarke never has to go through that again, she’ll die happy. 

“I’m taking my medication, Clarke,” her mother rolls her eyes at her like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, but it’s not that simple and she knows it. 

“Why? What do you need it for?” The question is simple enough, but her mother narrows her eyes at her, a cold spark that makes her stomach twist, this is going to be one of those things, one of those arguments neither of them wins. 

“I need it for the pain Clarke, you know that.”

“What pain? Tell me where it hurts,” in her mind, Clarke thinks of it as a game they play, but calling it a game implies some sort of enjoyment, and there is nothing she enjoys less than arguing about damn Opioids. 

Her mother stares her down, Kane might give into her, argue with her and beg her, but Clarke won’t. Her mother knows how to work Kane, where his weaknesses are and how to play to them - Clarke’s not so easily manipulated. 

“My head” her mother finally tells her, “I’ve got a banging headache.”

“Then take some Tylenol and have some water, you haven’t drank since I got here, and you haven’t eaten either. That’s no good for your head.”

Clarke’s more than happy to stand here all day in a stare out, she has more than enough patience for it. Years in the military means that she’s more disciplined than most people she’s met, and especially more so than her mother. 

“You can’t tell me what to do,” her mother tells her with a false conviction. She has no power here, not when Clarke’s holding her lifeline between her fingers. “You’re a child still, what does it have to do with you what I take for a headache?”

“Because I’m not going to stand around watching you slowly kill yourself. Let's get one thing straight, I’m not Kane, I’m not a pushover. These pills are for unbearable pain, I’ve sat with you for over an hour now and you’ve not mentioned a headache once. You’re taking them because you want to, not because you need to. So unless you’re in unbearable pain, you’re not having it.”

Her mother glares up at her from her place in the armchair, she’s well used to these looks though, from her time as a rebellious teenager, that look has been more or less stuck on her mothers face. It doest affect her anymore, this is nothing compared to the look she got when she announced she was joining the forces, fresh out of high school with the world at her feet. 

She chose to kill.

A hand reaches out to grab the pill bottle from her, but Clarke’s faster. Surely she must have known that wasn’t going to work. 

“Take a Tylenol,” Clarke tells her again, “drink some water and have something to eat. These aren’t the answer.”

There’s a tense silence, luckily filled by the front door opening and Kane calling out.

“I thought I saw your car outside,” Kane smiles, patting her shoulder. The stare off’s been broken, but in one last move, Clarke crushes the pill between her fingers, taking great satisfaction when it crumbles to the floor.

“I thought I’d come over and say hi,” Clarke smiles, slipping the pills into her pocket. “See how moms doing. You on a break?” She nods to his uniform, she knows he isn’t on a break, he was attending to the Reaper killing going on outside, but her mother doesn’t need to know that. 

“I am,” he smiles, but she can see the strain in his eyes, the tense, worried lines on his face. “Thought I’d come and see how everyone’s doing.”

“We’re fine,” Clarke smiles tersely, “moms got a headache though, I was just about to go get her some Tylenol.”

“Oh,” Kane frowns, looking to her mother, Clarke can’t stand to hear what comes next, the pity and the sympathy, the manipulation. 

Clarke turns and walks to the kitchen. Gripping the sides she desperately wills her heartbeat to slow down, to stop this frantic rhythm and just  _ be calm.  _ This is why she doesn’t come around as much as she could, she hates it here, more than she did growing up. It always felt cold here, there’s nothing homely about the place, it was never a particularly loving home. 

Now it’s worse. Now the air is fraught with pending arguments, with the disagreements Clarkes come to know and loathe.

“You alright?” Kane’s voice comes suddenly from behind her, she hadn’t heard him come in, but then, she was in her head much too much to notice what was going on around her. 

“Yeah,” Clarke sighs, “it’s just—” she gestures towards the living room, she doesn’t need to say anymore, Kane knows as well as she does.

“I know,” he assures her, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I don’t know what to do for the best. I wanted to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Okay,” Clarke nods, praying he means rehab, she did well there, maybe if she could just have a little longer she’d be alright. 

Kane jerks his head towards the front door, “that was a Reaper killing,” he informs her quietly, but she’d already guess that. “Second one in this area this week. We’ve had a theory for a while that it’s cocaine but—”

“None was found in their systems?” She guesses, “Rich white people and a growing Opioid problem, it’s them, isn’t it?” She doesn’t need to say who, Kane already knows it.

“We can’t know for certain,” Kanes jaw tenses, he won’t confirm it but she knows he’s thinking it too. 

“Bullshit,” Clarke snorts, “It’s the Wallaces, who else would it be?”

“You don’t know that,” Kane tells her firmly, she can read between the lines, he’s trying to keep her out of trouble, trying to keep everyone safe and well and alive.

Too bad he’s failing. 

“Okay,” Clarke agrees, “I don’t know that, and neither do you. But if we suspected, and if we were worried, we’d worry about the drugs she’s getting from Cage, right?”

Kane nods slowly, “Hypothetically, yes. We would be worried about what’s in the pills.”

Clarke’s thought about this, occasionally her usual nightmare would give her a break and she’ll dream of her Mother turning into a Reaper, her skin grey and her eyes sunken, bony hands reaching towards her throat - her one last act before the drugs take her life. 

“Well if—hypothetically these were street drugs gone wrong by a certain Cage Wallace, then yes, we’d be worried and we’d be forcing her to detox again.”

Kane nods, “but we’re not forcing her to detox, so what’s your next...theory?”

Clarke hesitates, she’s walking a damn fine line here. Kane knows where she gets the Opioids, better to get it from the supplier than some dodgy drug dealer on a street corner. While what they’re doing isn’t exactly legal, Clarke’s pretty confident having the chief of police on her side is going to keep her on the right side of the law.

“This isn’t a street drug gone wrong. Hypothetically, Cage is testing something, and Cage is a lot of things, but he’s not stupid. He knows that if anything happened to my mother he’d have us on his case, and we are not people he wants coming after him.”

She shakes a couple of Tylenol out of the bottle in the cupboard, looking at them in her hand, it gives her an idea, it may not be a good idea, but it’s an idea nonetheless. 

“That’s an interesting theory,” Kane nods, mulling it over. Kanes team may be incompitent, but she knows as well as anybody else that Cage Wallace has this damn City under lock and key. There’s no one else ruling it quite like him.

Apart from maybe Bellamy Blake.

“What were you two talking about?” Her mother asks suspiciously when they get back into the living room. 

“Vera’s new Bonsai Tree, she thinks it’s stressed,” Clarke smiles tightly, handing the pills over. “Take these if your headaches that bad.”

Her mother curls her lip up in disgust as she looks at the pills, they’re not what she wants, they don’t numb her like the others do. 

“I need to get going, I’m going out tonight.” Clarke tells her, kissing her cheek and collecting her jacket from where she’d draped it over the chair earlier.

“Have a good time,” her mother tells her, though it’s insincere. She’s just waiting for her and Kane to leave so she can make a grab at the pill bottle. 

*

She turns up to the bar late that night, she could have been on time, very easily. But she chooses not to be. It’s a power move, she’s in charge of this arrangement, not Bellamy. Is it not enough that she’s agreed to work with him, now she’s being forced to socialise. 

Murphy claps her on the back when she arrives and passes her a beer. It’s not what she’d usually drink, but it’s free. 

“Drinks on me tonight,” Bellamy tells her, she raises her glass to him in thanks, though a few glasses of watered down beer isn’t going to do much for her. 

“Good day?” Bellamy asks conversationally, Clarke raises an eyebrow, there’s a hint of suspicion in his tone. She wonders briefly if he’s got people watching her, but she doubts they’d be here if he did. She very much doubts he knows what she did today. 

Clarke hums in agreement, “Yes thank you, you?”

Bellamy narrows his eyes at her, “I went around to your apartment, to personally invite you out, but you weren’t there.”

“I’m sorry,” she blinks, “I didn’t realise that this agreement meant having to be chained to my apartment at all times. I’ll start online shopping if it suits you better, who needs grocery stores?”

There’s a ripple of laughter around the table, and in the dim light she’s sure Bellamy blushes. He mutters that’s not what he meant, but doesn’t say anymore on the subject. 

He has a lot to say about other subjects, though. He gives her the third degree about everything he can think of, where she grew up, what her parents did for a living, what she did for a living. 

Clarke doesn’t answer him, not truthfully, at least. She takes great pleasure in the frustration on his face when she doesn’t give him the answers he wants. He’s used to getting his own way - he’s the big bad of this city. Cage Wallace is the big gun, he’s the town media golden boy, has the big business and the put their name on the map. 

Bellamy though—he’s got a little something for everyone. He’s got the restaurants and casinos, he keeps people in business and then he’s got his drug dynasty, the recreational drugs that drain people’s bank accounts, but it’s better than taking their lives, she supposes.

Bellamy eventually gets bored of her sarcastic answers and her unfazed tone to the third degree. She’s a soldier, she’s been held captive and tortured for information, Bellamy Blake glaring at her from over a sticky bar table doesn't affect her in the slightest. 

Clarke’s finally left alone to watch everyone in their element, with cheap beer and their friends around them. It’s the first time she’s met the rest of Bellamy’s people, and while she’s never really had much to do with drug rings before, she didn’t expect them to be like this. 

They’re friends—real, genuine friends who go out to bars, have fun together and sell drugs. It must be nice, to have a family like this, to have people who will always have your back. 

She watches them closely. Trying to suss them out, look for weaknesses and ticks—it’s what she does, what she’s been trained to do. Murphy squeezes her shoulder, pulling her out of her mind.

“You alright there?” he murmurs, looking over her like she’s about to break. She’s not. 

Clarke nods, taking a sip of her beer. It tastes like piss water but she supposes that’s what you get for free. 

Octavia demands her attention then, and Clarke finds that actually she quite likes her. It’s been a long time since she’s like somebody, even as a friend. She’s smart and quick witted and doesn't take any of her brother’s shit. Clarke’s never had a sibling, she had Wells growing up, but it’s not quite the same thing. She doesn’t ask her personal questions like Bellamy, Clarke finds it easy to just talk to her. 

For a bunch of gangsters, they all seem to be pretty genuine. Clarke notes that cautiously, she’s actually having fun. She doesn’t let herself have too much though, she reminds herself that she’s not here to make friends, she’s here to take down Cage Wallace, and that’s all. 

There’s a heat to her face suddenly, and out of the corner of her eyes she spots her—the woman at the bar glaring a hole into her head, and any thoughts of having a good time are diminished, and dread washes over her. Suddenly, the air around her is too hot, too thick, it’s too hard to breathe.

“Clarke?” Bellamy’s voice sounds entirely too far away, muffled like she’s under water. “Clarke, are you alright?”

She drags herself out of her daze to look at him, there’s a rare look of uncertainty on his face, the entire tables looking at her like— 

She has to get out of here, right now. 

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “I have to go.”

“Clarke wait—”

She doesn’t wait though, she takes her jacket and flees into the freezing night. The bar door slams shut loudly behind her, she takes a deep breath and counts to 10, trying to calm herself. The airs bitter in her lungs, it reminds her she’s still alive. 

She walks home, arms wrapped tightly around herself and she curses herself for running like that. She reminds herself that she didn’t do anything wrong, she did what she had to do and no one can tell her any different, not even that woman. 

Sleep doesn’t come easily that night, worse than usual. She thinks about that day over and over again, she’s still there, in the hot desert with the hard cracked stone of the village under her feet. 

She can still hear the chatter, the shouts of relief when they see her. 

She can still see him, with the bomb strapped around his chest, the timer counting down until—

She wakes drenched in sweat, a scream dying on her lips. What must her neighbours think of her?

The alarm clock next to her bed tells her it’s 4am, and she knows this is the most sleep she’s going to get. There’s no taming her wildly beating heart so she slips out of bed and wraps herself in a cardigan, it’s not enough to take the chill from her but she doesn’t mind, she quite enjoys the cold. 

She sits on her Balcony with a packet of cigarettes and a cup of coffee that goes cold too quick and watches the sky change colour slowly, from the deep, impossibly dark night to the brilliant blue hue that slowly turns pink until the sun rises in the sky and her phone buzzes.

Where on earth Bellamy got her number from she doesn’t know, but he’s reminding her that they have  _ an appointment _ today, before she goes to see Cage. As if she could forget. 

When she can’t put it off anymore, she drags herself away from the balcony and showers to try and get some warmth back into her bones. It doesn’t work as well as she’d like, but she’s not freezing anymore. She dresses as she would for any other meeting with Cage, she can’t let on that this is any different, and makes her way to Bellamy’s house, away from the safety of her apartment. 

In her mind, someone like Bellamy Blake should live in this extravagant house with plush furnishings, maybe she watched too many mafia films with her dad growing up, the rare times he was at home. But he doesn’t. It’s obvious that he’s not exactly skimping for money, but the house is modest, it looks like any other family home in Arcadia. 

He opens the door before she gets the chance to knock, looking over her critically. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week.” He informs her, as charming as ever. 

“Funny, it only feels like a couple of hours,” she mutters back. 

She half regrets agreeing to this, to working with so many people. She just wants to be left alone, she wants to live her life without worry in peace. If it were up to her, she’d put a bullet through Cage Wallace's head and burn down the labs with Dr Tsing in it. Murphy told her that’s not a sustainable plan, she told him that he’s not a sustainable plan.

Unfortunately, he’s right though, doing that isn’t going to help her mother, and Cage needs to be exposed for what he’s doing. So she’ll grit her teeth and bear it, work with Bellamy until they can take Cage down and she can go back to her quiet little life. 

She shrugs her jacket off and drapes it over her lap as she sits awkwardly on the sofa. Raven’s already there, with a collection of electrics spread out over the coffee table. 

“Hey,” Clarke smiles cautiously, she wonders what they must think of her after she ran like that last night. She doubts Murphy would have filled them in on what happened, so they probably just think she’s a little strange. She can deal with that though, it’s better than the alternative. 

“Hey,” Raven smiles back, apparently unaffected by last night. “Wanna try out some of this?”

Clarke looks at the stuff on the table, it’s a lot of wires and things she doesn’t really understand. Unsure of what exactly she’s supposed to be trying out, she just shrugs in response. “What is it?”

“It’s surveillance equipment,” Bellamy informs her, sitting opposite her on the arm chair. Dread fills her suddenly, she knew she’d have to get the information back to them, but she didn’t think of the logistics of it. “So we can see what you’re saying and doing, well—it’s more to watch Cage than you.”

Clake nods and pinches the inside of her elbow, it’s a nervous habit she’s picked up, one that leaves an ever growing bruise on the inside of her arm. Bellamy’s noticed it, he noticed it the first time she was in there. He’s observant if nothing else.

“Here—” Raven hands her a pair of balck rimmed glasses, she puts them on and Raven angles a laptop towards her. There’s a camera in there somewhere, she can see the reflection footage on the screen. “Don’t worry, there’s no way of seeing the camera, he won’t know it’s there.”

“Cute,” Clarke agrees as she looks over the glasses, “but pointless, I don’t wear glasses, I never have. If he sees me in them he’s going to know something’s up.”

Bellamy’s jaw tenses, “so you got your eyes tested, they’re new. Plenty of people have to start wearing glasses, you’re now one of them, congratulations.”

Clarke shakes her head though, “It’s not going to work, he knows me, he’s known me for years—he trusts me. He’s going to be suspicious if I suddenly turn up wearing glasses.”

“Must you argue about this?” Bellamy grumbles.

“I can wear them, but if he gets suspicious then we get found out and you get nothing. I’m here because I know Cage, he talks to me, this whole thing is reliant on him trusting me and you’re not making that any easier.”

“Fine,” Bellamy snaps, glaring at her. “Raven, any better ideas?”

Raven’s looking over the table at her wires, the air thick with tension, but they’re all doing a good job of ignoring it. 

“Pass me your jacket,” Raven finally demands, holding her hand out for Clarke’s leather jacket. With a frown, Clarke hands it over and watches as Raven inspects one of the press studs. “I have an idea.”

Bellamy pays no attention, all of that is reserved for her. 

“Okay,” he finally breaks the silence as Raven does something to her jacket. “Here’s how it’s going to go, we can see what you see - with any luck, and hear what you hear. You’ll have an earpiece in, it’s tiny so Cage won’t see it. Just go about like it’s a normal meeting, don’t do anything you wouldn’t usually do. If I need any more information I’ll ask through the earpiece. It’s down to you how you ask it—like you so graciously pointed out, you’re the expert here, you know what to say.”

Clarke nods, it seems simple enough, and she can act natural. Raven passes her the jacket back to her, Clarke can’t see anything different on it, and she doubts Cage will look at it too closely. 

“The camera’s in the press stud,” Raven explains, “It’s the same size as a glasses screw, but it still works fine. I need you to keep your jacket zipped up though, and try not to move too much, and try to stay facing Cage so we can see him.”

“Maybe look around a bit as well” Bellamy suggests, “so we can see some more of wherever you are.”

“Got it,” Clarke nods, “act natural, keep still and turn around. Sounds simple enough.”

Bellamy’s back to glaring at her, but it doesn’t last very long until his expression softens a little. “You’re not nervous going in there, are you?” 

If only he knew that she’s been in much, much worse situations. This is nowhere near the worst thing she’s done. 

“I’m fine,” she tells him, it’s a little more diplomatic than laughing at him. “I’m perfectly capable of keeping a clear head.”

Bellmay nods, he still doesn’t look fully convinced, but she supposes it’s taking a lot of trust sending her in to spy for him, she could double cross him at any moment. 

“What would you do if he found out you’re spying for me?”

He’s trying to figure her out, see if she’s got what it takes to actually go through with this. 

She smiles widely at him and says “I’ll put a bullet through his head.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags and rating are very likely to change as the story goes on, please remember to check the tags with chapter updates but I will prewarn if anything major has changed! 
> 
> This work was written for t100fic4blm. I'm taking requests for prompts along with lots of other amazing writer and content creators! You can also gift a fanwork to your friend for the holidays! For more information, [Check out the carrd here!](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co)
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> You can find me on [tumblr!](https://excuseyouclarke.tumblr.com/)


	3. What's behind the metal doors?

_ Excerpt from the Arcadia Times 18th November 2019 _

_ With the growing Opioid Epidemic in Arcadia, and an increase in seemingly random and violent killings, the people of Arcadia are demanding answers. Authorities have been reached out to on multiple occasions, but have refused to comment. The death count is rising rapidly, and the end does not seem to be in sight.  _

_ A disturbing link has been found between those doing the attacks, and a high amount of Opioids found in their system Post Mortem. It’s an unlikely coincidence that these killings have started since Mount Weather began their manufacturing of Opioids in Arcadia. The opening of the pharmaceutical company was supposed to bring an influx of jobs and a booming economy to the city. Instead, have they brought something much more sinister? _

Present day.

This is an awful idea. Bellamy can’t shake the thought that he should just call the whole thing off right now. He doesn’t need Clarke Griffin to be a spy for them, not when he’s not even sure that she’s not a spy for Cage. 

He should just go down there right now and kill Cage once and for all. Get it over with and take the risk of jail time. But then he looks to Octavia, who’s looking wearily between the two of them and he remembers exactly why he hasn’t done that. 

Octavia may be old enough to take care of herself now, lord knows she’s capable enough, but to him she’s still the scared child that depended on him for so long. He’s never quite been able to shake the feeling of being needed. He’ll never accept that he’s not needed, not where his sister’s involved. If Atom attacking them wasn’t proof enough that he’s needed, then he’s not sure what is. 

He also can’t shake the feeling that he’s one massive target on her back, but as long as he can still protect her, he won’t think about that. 

“Before you go,” Bellamy tries to say it as evenly as possible, truly he does. It’s not his fault that there’s something about her that really grinds his gears. “I need to know why you’re going to see Cage.”

She won’t tell him, he knows she won’t. She doesn’t seem like she’s Opioid dependent, but then, does he really know? That’s the main problem here, is he doesn’t know a thing about her, and he’s expected to leave himself exposed and trust blindly. 

“You don’t need to know,” Clarke says with a tight smile. He’s good at reading people, he always has been—you don’t get as far as this in life without being able to read people. But there’s a wall up with Clarke, he can’t tell a single damn thing about who she is or what she’s after, She says she wants to kill Cage, and he does too, but he’ll tell the whole goddamn world about, she keeps it close to her chest.

He’ll find out, one way or another he’ll find out what she’s hiding.

“No,” he tells her decisively, “I  _ need to know.  _ If I’m going to send you in there covered in surveillance equipment, I need to know you’re not going to stab me in the back.”

“Come on man—” Murphy starts, but Bellamy cuts him off with a glare. He’s spent too much time watching his own back. How does he know that Murphy’s not being manipulated by her too?

“No,” Bellamy tells them again. “She either tells me or she’s off the mission. That’s the end of it.”

There’s a terse silence between everyone, it’s Clarke’s move though, they’re not going anywhere until she’s made her move. 

Finally she sighs and shakes her head, giving in. A wise move on her part, because if she wants Cage dead as much as she claims, she’ll give in first. “I’m picking something up, Oxycodone. It’s for pain apparently, If you want you can have a couple of the pills to test, see if they’re Reaper or whatever the hell they’re calling it.”

Bellamy weighs up what she’s just said, she sounds like she’s telling the truth, but even she didn’t seem convinced by it. Whatever she’s doing it for, it’s not her taking the drugs, it’s someone else. “Aren’t you going to miss those couple of pills? I hear Oxycodone’s very addictive.”

She stares him out, not faltering once. If he can respect anything about her, it’s that. She doesn’t flinch when he’s giving her grief. She’s never batted an eyelid at his interrogations that are supposed to be intimidating. 

“I don’t think they’ll be missed.”

“Who are they for?” He tries to demand, but he can see Clarke tense at the question, and he knows he’s not going to get anymore out of her. 

“I’m sorry, you haven’t unlocked that part of my backstory yet.”

It breaks the tension around the room, and he has to admit that it draws at least a bit of a smile from him too. “Okay,” he huffs, he knows when to stop, and times getting thin now, she’s going to have to leave in a minute, so he supposes the interrogations over. 

Octavia’s taken over completely for those last couple of minutes, anyway. She and Clarke seem to have really hit it off, which is something—he doesn’t want to put a word to what that something is, but it’s certainly there. 

“Alright,” Clarke announces, standing and straightening her jacket. He watches his reflection on the laptop screen from the camera in her button. He knows from taking one look at himself that he’s not at all convinced about this, but what else can he do at this point? “I need to go if I’m going to make it on time.”

“You wouldn’t want to be late,” he agrees, standing with her. “I’ll walk you out.”

“What a gentleman,” Clarke mutters through her teeth. She knows that he’s not just walking her out to be nice. That’s alright though, because they know where they stand with each other. 

He opens the door and lets her out. She matches his stare without any hesitation, raising an eyebrow at him and smirking. There’s something about her that really gets on his very last nerve. 

At the last moment before she’s about to walk out the door, he grasps her elbow, pulling her towards him. He didn't mean to pull her quite so hard though, and now she’s right in his face, her breath hot on his mouth. He didn’t mean to be so close to her but he tries his hardest not to let it affect him. 

“I still don’t trust you,” he tells her quietly, seriously. “If you fuck this up or double cross me, I have no hesitations about dumping your body in the river.”

Clarke smiles brilliantly, completely unaffected by him. “Likewise.” She pulls her arm from his grasp and walks away, slamming the door shut behind her. He takes a few seconds before going back to the living room, he tries his hardest to shake her off, but she’s all he’s going to think about for at least the next hour.

“We heard that,” Octavia mutters when he sits in front of the laptop. She’s not happy about the treatment of her new friend. He couldn’t care less though, he’s doing what he has to to keep them all safe. 

“I don’t care,” he grunts, “she needs to know her place.”

Raven snorts, setting up the live stream from the camera in Clarke’s jacket. “Oh she knows her place alright.”

Murphy isn’t saying a lot, which is most unlike him. He’s usually the first person to come out with a snarky comment, it makes Bellamy wonder exactly what he’s hiding. He can only assume it’s about Clarke, and once again Bellamy’s left wondering how well Murphy knows her, or how he even knows her. He knows there’s no point in asking though, they’re both tight lipped about it. He’ll get it out of him someday, but Bellamy just hopes that something drastic doesn’t happen until then. 

He concentrates on the steering wheel of Clarke’s car instead. It’s an old thing, probably barely functional but it’s not his place to judge her on the car she drives, he’s got enough to be worrying about without thinking about her breaking down. 

She hums along to the radio, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat. Whether it’s because she’s nervous or just blasé he doesn’t know. He imagines it’s the latter though. The roads look vaguely familiar, but without the full view he’s not entirely sure where she’s going. 

He scoffs when she lights up a cigarette. “Of course she smokes in her car,” he mutters, it’s not enough that it’s old, it probably stinks, too.

“You sell cocaine from the back of restaurants that come stuffed in poultry,” Clarke’s voice comes from the speakers, surprisingly clear. “Don’t judge me for smoking in my car.”

Bellamy blinks for a moment, recollecting his thoughts. “She can hear me, can’t she?”

“Yep,” Raven pops, “that’s kind of the point. She’s got a point, too.”

“In which case I retract my statement, sorry,” he rolls his eyes, if only to keep the peace. He needs her to have a clear head, and arguing with him isn’t going to help with that. 

“Any song requests while we’re here? Kind of pinned you as a Celine Dion fan, Blake.”

“Just concentrate on driving, for god's sake,” he huffs, he has to admit, it’s quite a talent how she manages to push buttons he didn’t even know he had. 

Clarke snorts, but doesn’t say anything else. He wants to ask how much longer she’ll be driving, but he refrains from anymore conversation. It’s tense around the room, they’ve never really had to trust an outsider like this before, it’s how he knows the situation is entirely out of control now. 

Finally she pulls up outside of Mount Weathers headquarters, he’s almost disappointed that it’s not in some dodgy back alley or something, but on the other hand, it's for the best this way, he’ll actually get to have a look on the inside. If Raven and Monty play their cards right, they might be able to get something that gets into the system just by Clarke being there. But there’s no point trying to think that far ahead, he needs to concentrate on what’s happening now. 

She doesn’t get out of the car right away, instead she takes her phone from the glove compartment and holds it just out of sight of the camera. Once again, she’s being completely infuriating. Does she know how much pressure he’s under to get this under control?

“What are you doing?” he demands with a hiss, gritting his teeth, Clarke just scoffs at him. 

“Will you have a little patience? I’m just sending a text, jesus.” 

“It’s amazing you know,” Raven interjects, “how you’re miles away from each other and still manage to argue like this.”

“It’s a talent,” Clarke mutters, but finally she clicks off her seatbelt and gets out of the car, straightening her jacket. Bellamy’s never actually been to Mount Weather’s headquarters before, but when the Wallaces first opened it, it was all over the news. How this great company was coming in to create more jobs and save Arcadia’s economy. 

It was pretty and white and shining back then, this futuristic building that was supposed to bring a new lease of life to many.

It’s sickening to think about now. All the damage and destruction they’ve caused, the dire state Arcadia’s been left in, Bellamy knows he’s not a good person, but he’s sure as hell not making a drug that turns people into killers. 

The inside of Mount Weather is almost futuristic, just like it was advertised to be. Everythings polished white and chrome, sterile and deeply uninviting. It’s exactly what he imagines when he thinks of it. 

“Oh no,” Clarke breathes, barely audible, but that was probably the point. 

“What’s going on?” Murphy demands, suddenly taking over. It hits him why he was so quiet earlier, he’s worried about this girl. He’s barely seen Murphy worried in all his life, even when he was being sent to war he had no less than a smirk and a cigarette hanging off his lips. Now he’s jittery and tense, and Bellamy just can’t work their situation out.

“The receptionist—she’s new.” Clarke mutters, low enough that no one but them could hear.

This is a bad idea. He feels it in his bones. Cage knows they’ve sent Clarke in as a spy and the whole things about to be blown up. 

“Just chill out for a second,” Raven mutters at him, “she’s got this.”

He’s about to argue that Raven doesn’t know that Clarke’s got this, they don’t even know her, they don’t know how capable she is in these situations, but he’s cut off by Clarke.

“Hi,” she says, overly cheery. He didn’t know she could sound that happy. “I’ve got an appointment with Cage Wallace,” her voice is too sweet, too polite to what he’s used to hearing from her. 

The receptionist however, looks over her and turns her nose up. “I’m sorry,” she says, without sounding sorry at all. “Mr Wallace doesn’t take appointments, I think you’re looking for Dr Tsing.”

“I’m not,” Clarke assures her, “I’m here for Cage. We have a regular appointment scheduled, if you’d just call him—”

“Mr Wallace doesn’t take appointments,” the receptionist tells her again, with perhaps more force than necessary. Is she afraid of him? Cage doesn’t exactly have the best reputation, it wouldn’t surprise him if the staff were all scared of him. Maybe that’s why he has a new receptionist. 

“Something’s not right,” Murphy mutters, his eyes not leaving the screen. “She needs to get out.”

“Clarke!” The voice from the laptop makes them all jump, it’s dark and deep, and when Clarke turns they see Cage Wallage standing by the metal doors leading to god knows where. They’re about to find out where. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Right here,” Clarke simpers. It’s a familiar way of talk, crossing the line of a professional business exchange. 

“Why didn’t you tell me she was here?” Cage demands of the receptionist, his tone devoid of any warmth. Bellamy wouldn’t want to be in the receptionists shoes right now, or ever for that matter. 

“You said you didn’t take visitors, I’m sorry it wasn’t in the diary—” she starts, but even so she sounds unsure. From the way Clarke’s standing, he can’t see the look on Cage’s face, but he can certainly imagine from the way the receptionships stammering it’s not a  _ good _ look. 

“Come on through,” Cage leads the way through the door, cutting the conversation short. 

Bellamy’s grateful for the camera here, they’re led through a maze of corridors, everything white and sterile, no artwork on the walls, nothing to make the place inviting in the slightest. If they ever have to storm the place, at least they’ll know the way to Cage’s office—if that’s even where they’re going. Monty attaches a wire between his laptop and Ravens and starts typing at lightning speed. Bellamy doesn’t bother asking what he’s doing, the explanation will only go over his head. 

After it seems like they’ve walked through half of the headquarters, they finally get to Cage’s office, and Bellamy’s not sure why he expected his office to be anything less than cold and sterile. There’s nothing in there that says he spends most of his time in there, there’s nothing personal about the space.

Clarke sits in a white leather seat as Cage sits opposite her, smiling almost predatory at her. It makes Bellamy uncomfortable, and he thinks he’s figured out the reason he only takes appointments with her. 

“How’s it going, with everything?” Cage waves his hand nonchalantly, and the statement gives Bellamy absolutely nothing to go off, not even a hint about why Clarke’s there.

“Oh you know,” Clarke shrugs, sending the camera jolting up and down with her shoulders. “Same old, I think. Says she’s got headaches now, it was back pain before.”

Cage frowns, maybe it’s supposed to look sympathetic, but it’s hard not to see the falseness behind it. He hopes Clarke can see it too, because he’s looking at her like she’s fresh meat. “I imagine with an illness like hers it takes a toll on her. Does she say the medication helps?”

Clarke sighs and leans forward slightly, her hair falling too and covering the camera.

“Move your hair,” he hisses, and the hairs quickly flicked out of the way. Cage gives her a questioning look, and Bellamy regrets snapping at her. He reminds himself that Clarke’s supposed to be acting normal, not on edge thinking about what Bellamy needs. 

“Yes,” Clarke recovers quickly though, and he’s grateful for that. “She says it does. I don’t know why the Doctor’s stopped prescribing it when she says the pains so bad.”

Cage nods, false sympathy dripping from him again. “Of course, the Doctors don’t understand like you do sometimes. They should be listening to her, not leaving her in pain.”

Clarke hums in agreement, but doesn’t say anymore on the matter. Bellamy’s just left more confused by the conversation, one things clear though, Cage is in this for more than a business transaction. 

Cage slides an orange pill bottle towards Clarke, Bellamy tries to get a good look, but she’s covering the label with her hand.

“She’s not going to turn into a Reaper from these, is she?” Clarke asks, her tones light, but the message underneath is clear. The room around him goes silent as Cage’s eyes darken, any nicety is wiped off his face. Now, there’s a darkness come over his features, and everyone in the room seems to hold their breath. 

“These ones won’t,” Cage assures her evenly. He’s still glaring at her though, it’s a look that would send most people recoiling in horror, not Clarke though, from what he can tell she hasn’t even batted an eyelid. 

She’s playing a dangerous game, asking him so brazenly. She could blow this entire operation just because she can’t hold her tongue. 

“But others might? You can’t blame me for being worried, after everything that’s being said in the media.”

“I hate that term,  _ Reaper _ .” Cage spits, ignoring Clarkes question completely. “It makes it sound as if they were designed to be some sort of bringer of death.”

The words sit heavy around them, and for a moment, Bellamy thinks that might have been a confession. He wants to tell Clarke to keep going, to keep questioning and get more out of him, that’s what she’s there for, afterall. 

He doesn’t have to tell her though, because she’s going in by herself. “What were they designed for then?”

“ _ I  _ never designed them to be anything. You’re making it out as if I’m the one making them. It’s not me the media’s linking it to, the papers said it could be cocaine. I can assure you Clarke, I’m not giving you anything to be concerned about.”

“Well I’ll have to start grilling her cocaine dealer next then.” 

It finally brings a smile to Cage's face, but still, there’s a hint of suspicion there. As much as he may like Clarke, Bellamy has no doubts that he wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of her if she crossed him. As much as he doesn’t like her, he doesn’t want her to fall victim to Cage Wallace like many have before her. 

She finally hands over a wad of cash, Bellamy wonders how much she’s being charged for the drugs, but it’s unimportant, that’s not what he sent her in for. 

“I’ll text you,” Clarke murmurs as they get to the front of the reception. “For our next appointment.”

“Another month, I’m guessing. Do let me know what your cocaine dealer thinks of the Reaper drugs.”

Clarke laughs lightly, but there’s also a pang of tension there, maybe Cage picks up on it, but maybe he doesn’t. What does it really matter when he’ll be dead by the end of the month if Bellamy has his way. 

Before Clarke gets in her car, she shrugs off her jacket and the laptop screen descends into darkness as the jackets thrown into the car. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Raven murmurs quietly, breaking the silence, “that concludes today’s broadcast.”

It earns a laugh from Octavia at least, Bellamy’s much too on edge for any sort of humour. It seems as though Murphy is too, that’s usually his type of macabre humour, but not right now. There's no music in Clarke's car now, no humming or tapping, no snarky comments from her and he doesn't make any either. 

They hear her car pull up outside, it’s not hard to hear the car though, it’s never going to be a getaway car—not that he wants Clarke in the driving seat for that situation, or in any seat for that matter. She slams the car door behind her, and Octavia’s up and going to the door before Bellamy can even think about getting up. 

There’s a quiet conversation he can’t make out, but he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like Octavia getting close to her, she’s trouble, and Bellamy doesn’t trust her one bit.

“What the hell was that?” Bellamy demands when they get back into the room. “Asking about the Reapers, do you know how dangerous that was?”

Clarke just scoffs at him though, he can tell she’s trying her hardest to seem disconnected from this, but there’s still that undercurrent of tension radiating from her. “Chill out, it was fine.”

“ _ I’ll grill the cocaine dealer next, _ what was that? Are you trying to get caught?”

“It was a joke, maybe you should, I don’t know, try getting a sense of humour.”

“It’s kind of hard to make a joke of it when you almost blew the entire thing up.” 

Clarke throws her hands up in frustration, “you told me to act natural, so I did. I’m sorry if that wasn’t up to your standard.”

“Can I keep that for a bit?” Raven interjects, pointing to Clarke’s jacket. He’d completely forgot that they were in the middle of a room full of people, somehow he sees Clarke and all logic and conduct goes out of the window completely. Clarke hands the jacket over to Raven with a huff, Bellamy doesn’t have a clue what that’s about, nor does he really care. 

“This isn’t a joke to me,” Bellamy tells her evenly, ignoring Raven’s interruption. “I need Cage Wallace gone, and if you’re not going to take it seriously—”

“Who said I wasn’t taking it seriously?” Clarke demands, face flushing in anger. She can get as angry as she likes, he’s not having her sabotage this entire thing. “If I went in all serious, he’s think it was suspicious. If Cage is definitely the one behind this then he’s on his guard all the time, he’s looking for something to be paranoid about. One wrong move and I’m dead, that might be a bit of an inconvenience for you, but it’s a major problem for me.”

Bellamy doesn’t bother arguing with that, there’s no point carrying on this conversation. Luckily, Monty takes that as an opportunity to interrupt. He’s grateful, because he really needs to keep his temper in check around her. She’s their best chance of getting any sort of information from Cage, and he needs to at least try and keep on her good side. 

“Could I get one of those pills?” Monty asks, stepping between him and Clarke. “For testing.”

Clarke pulls out the pill bottle from her back pocket, Bellamy can't read the label on it, but he guesses Clarke’s positioned it like that on purpose. Monty holds out his hand, obviously only expecting one of the pills to be tapped into his hand, what he doesn’t expect is for half the bottle to be tipped unceremoniously into his palm. He has to scramble to catch them all.

Bellamy just can’t work Clarke out. 

*

He spends all night going through the tapes of Clarke’s meeting with Cage. He watches it obsessively, he almost knows it by heart by the time the sun comes up. 

He goes over the part where Clarke asks about the Reaper pills, it’s the part he needs the most. He watches his reaction over and over again.

Cage doesn’t even try to hide it at first, he can tell by the way he says  _ ‘those ones won’t’ _ when Clarke asks him about the pills turning her into a Reaper. It’s a slip up. One he quickly tries to reprimand, but Bellamy’s already got it on Camera. 

He’s made notes, and he’s beginning to worry that he’s become a bit too obsessed. But then he remembers the Reaper trying to kill his sister, and he remembers that this is personal, there’s no such thing as too obsessed anymore. 

Monty texts him first thing, the pills he tested were legit. No trace of anything out of the ordinary. What they need is the Reaper drug, they need to test it and find what’s in it, then get a trace of Cage ordering it in for Mount Weather. 

He takes a deep breath, and without consulting anyone, he makes an irrational decision. He gets in his car and drives to Clarkes. He’s been here once before, he’s not ashamed to say he followed Murphy one day. He needs to know about her, and he needs to keep an eye on her. 

The area isn’t somewhere he imagined Clarke living. He hasn’t spent a lot of time thinking about Clarke and what kind of life she leads, but the last place he thought of was one of the roughest parts of town. Derelict, windy streets lay bare as he approaches the apartment block. He imagines this place used to be bursting with life, all of Arcadia did.

He bangs on the door, if Murphy ever found out he followed him, he imagines it wouldn’t end well for him. 

Clarke doesn’t answer, and with a frown he bangs again. It’s not that early in the morning that she’d still be in bed, and he doesn’t think she has a job. He could be wrong though, and he may have made a wasted journey. 

But finally, the door swings open and Clarke glares at him, hair messy and still in her pajamas. Maybe he did wake her up after all—that seems like her problem, though. 

“What do you want?” She snaps, venom in her eyes. He doesn’t feel bad, it’s almost 10am, there’s no way she should still be asleep.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he tells her simply, not giving anything away just yet. “Can I come in?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

He grits his teeth, coming here might have been a bad idea after all. “That’s what I’m asking.”

With a sigh, Clarke steps to the side, letting him into the apartment. 

Once again he’s taken aback by how little he actually knows about her. He thinks he can read people well, but Clarke’s a mystery to him. Her apartment is not what he expected at all. It’s dark and depressing, the walls are bare and the place looks like it’s never had a hint of love or care. The only thing personal is the piano in the corner, it seems out of place here, it’s well kept and a little lavish—this is what he expected of her, he realises now. He expected her to ooze money and the lifestyle he grew up craving. There’s that look about her, the stupidly rich look that he both hates and envies. 

“Do you play?” He asks, nodding to the piano. Clarke looks over and crosses her arms over her chest. It’s not a defiant stance, but rather unsure, almost like she wants to fold in on herself. 

“Sometimes, it was my dad’s, it was the only thing I brought with me after I left.”

Bellamy nods, but doesn’t pry. She’s different here, she’s not putting on a front, she hasn’t got her walls up. There’s a vulnerability to her that he doesn’t expect from her, it throws him off a little. He came here expecting a fight from her, but he doesn’t think he’s going to get that. 

“Do you want some coffee or anything?” She makes her way to the tiny kitchen, Bellamy follows, taking in the tiny details. The dog eared copy of  _ do electric sheep dream of androids _ , the collection of lighters littered around, the pile of bills in the corner. 

“Yeah, black two sugars, thanks.”

Clarke nods and flicks the coffee maker on, then turns to lean against the counter. There’s an awkward silence that he’s spent his life avoiding.

“I didn’t expect you to live somewhere like this,” he starts, then instantly regrets it when he sees the incredulous look over her face. He’s not Bellamy Blake, infamous and feared drug dealer here, he has no power like that. He’s in her territory now, he has no right to judge her here. 

“Where did you expect me to live, in an ivory tower somewhere?”

“Yeah,” he smirks, “something like that.”

She passes him a cup of coffee, and jerks her head towards the couch. He sits opposite her, the coffee’s hot and bitter but he doesn’t comment on it. 

“So what can I do for you?” She asks, maybe too polite. He’s not used to being spoken to like that. Even people he doesn’t know well don’t talk to him with such unfamiliarity.

“I was watching the video of your meeting with Cage—all night, actually. I have some thoughts on it.”

Clarke half laughs, looking over him and quirks an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

She’s different in this light, her heckles aren’t raised, she’s not itching for a fight and neither is he. There’s something melancholic about her, or maybe it’s just the whole apartment that gives off that feel. Time seems to slow down here, suddenly he’s drawn into her world, into a half-reclusive secretive world where he can just sit and  _ be. _

He didn’t come here for this though, he came on a mission. “Cage Wallace likes you,” he gets straight to the point, no point beating around the bush. He may get sucked into the fog that this place engulfs him in. “A lot.”

She laughs, genuinely this time, perhaps she’s not so bad afterall. “I know, I don’t know why but he does. It comes in handy when I need something off him though.”

“Like high strength opioids without a prescription?”

“Yeah, like that,” she doesn’t falter, she’s not ashamed of it, but she doesn’t seem scared, either. He would be, if he or someone close to him was taking these he’d be worried about them—about their addiction, about the Reapers, about the state of the city because of the drug addictions. 

If he was her he’d be worried about the way Cage Wallace looks at her. But he’s not her, and he’s going to use that to his advantage.

“I might be asking too much of you here,” he tells her with a sad smile. He doesn’t pretend to be a good person, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys putting people in bad situations. “I need to know what’s in the Reaper drug. And I think Cage Wallace all but confessed that he’s making them before he caught himself.”

Clarkes hand moves to the inside of her elbow, pinching the already bruised skin there. “You want me to ask him for a Reaper drug?”

He places his hand over hers, gently pulling it away. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promises, whether it’s a promise he’s able to keep he doesn’t know, but the least he can do is try. “I understand if you don’t want to, but he trusts you—and he likes you. You’re our best bet of beating this, whether I like it or not.”

Clarke bites her lip, it’s a daunting task, he understands that much. He’s not trying to ask her anything personal, he knows he’s not going to get anything from her so it’s a waste of breath. But Cage trusts her, and for now that’s enough. 

“Okay,” she agrees, “I’ll do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on [tumblr!](https://excuseyouclarke.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and rating are very likely to change as the story goes on, please remember to check the tags with chapter updates but I will prewarn if anything major has changed! 
> 
> This work was written for t100fic4blm. I'm taking requests for prompts along with lots of other amazing writer and content creators! For more information, [Check out the carrd here!](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co)  
> 
> 
> You can find me on [tumblr!](https://excuseyouclarke.tumblr.com/)


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